The Importance of Being Feral
by DaughterOfTheBrownCoats
Summary: Victor may or may not have run over his Mate. Well, he for sure ran over her, he's just not sold on the Mate part, no way, no how, not happening, no thanks. Plus, over and above the running over thing, she just escaped from a lab and is probably being chased and c'mon, no one mistakes Sabretooth for a white knight. Except that now he's hooked up with the X-Geeks, he kind of is...


_Hi, everyone. This is an edit of the first chapter I posted. I hadn't realized I'd made so many mistakes, I'm so sorry! But here's the corrected chapter. Like I said before, this is sort of a companion story to_ Better Than I Used To Be _, but not going to be as long or as in-depth. Mostly it's going to be Victor fighting and fucking the OC, Beth. So I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it!_

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Beth's eyes snapped open and she was instantly awake, but for long moments she lay silent and still, her brain refusing to process what her senses were telling her. She wore something made of the softest cotton that smelled, not unpleasantly, of damp and mossy earth and something that was like lightning. Under her, there appeared to be a soft mattress with smooth, cool, _clean_ sheets. All around her there were pillows that smelled faintly of the geese that had given up their downy feathers for the stuffing and a large, fluffy blanket that was currently smothering her.

With a little huff, she gave up the stillness in favor of comfort and pushed the blanket off her face and rolled to her rigth to meet Victor's unblinking gaze.

"Hey, pretty kitty." Her voice was low and sleep-roughened and it made her smile. It had been a long, long time, longer than she could literally remember, since she'd slept so deeply and well. Deliberately ignoring Victor, she closed her eyes and gave a long, luxurious stretch, rolling her shoulders and hips on the bed, twisting to one side then the other to stretch as fully as she could. When she was done, she rolled back to him with a long, gusty sigh to find he'd moved from his spot by the desk to barely a foot from the bed. The complete silence with which he'd moved made her jump a little in surprise to find him within arm's reach.

"You need a damn bell!" The words were out of her mouth before she thought better of them; the narrowing of his blue-gold eyes made her wish she'd managed to stop her runaway tongue, but oh, well. To cover the sudden spike to purely feminine fear, she smirked at him in her customary ballsy way. Since he smirked right back, the curl of his lips baring just the tip of one over-long canine, she suspected that she'd not covered that spike very well. But what could you do when your opponent could smell your emotions, hear the tempo of your heartbeat?

Deep breath in, smell him… Damn it, all she could smell was the mossy earth and electricity, nothing to give away his feelings. Maddeningly, his heart-rate was steady and strong, not tell-tale racing or skips to give a clue to what he was thinking. Damn him for having all the control that she lacked.

Brazenly – if she couldn't beat him at the control game, she'd destroy him by showing her hand to the fullest – she rolled to her back and adjusted the blanket so most of her t-shirt-covered torso was exposed with the edge of the blanket just under the swell of her belly, then reached one hand up to touch the headboard. The heat in his gaze let her know he noticed the way the shirt pulled tight across the swells and dips of her chest.

She expected him to make some cutting remark, a snide little something about her being a dog and then leave; his sudden shift to sit on the edge of the bed surprised her but she didn't flinch away when he laid one large, hot palm on her belly.

It felt like the heat of his skin singed her through the soft cotton of his shirt.

He didn't look at her face, just began to slowly tug the shirt up, inching it up from underneath the blanket. It was torture for her, feeling the soft slide of the cotton over her skin. The burning in his gaze only sharpened when he pulled the shirt up enough to bare skin; she thought for a moment she could feel the heat on that exposed skin. Still, though, he didn't touch her yet but kept tugging, lifting her covering higher until the shirt was rucked up above her breasts and she was bare to his eyes.

Very slowly, he touched her, one big hand splayed in the valley between her breasts, thumb and pinkie brushing the underside of each, his hand was so large.

She'd been wrong before, the warmth of his hand through the shirt had only been a pleasant, sunny day compared to the blistering heat of his skin on hers now. Suddenly breathless, she watched him extend his claws ever so deliberately, knew he could feel her heart racing under his palm as the tiny pricks of those black nails over her flushed skin invaded her senses. When his hand stroked a firm line from cleavage to below her bellybutton, she let out a strangled giggle and reached for his hand; nothing so dangerous and deadly as his claws had the right to be so tickly!

He growled low in his throat and caught her reaching hand and then her free one, caging both in one of his above her head. Lightly, he ran the pads of his fingers over some of the bits of metal in her skin, tracing the words MUTIE FREAK much as Marie had done earlier, but this touch caused a completely different reaction in the pit of her belly. The back of one claw ran over the corset piercing on her collarbone, clinking lightly over the little hoops. Gently, he was so unexpectedly gentle, he let his fingers climb her zig-zag of barbells from waist to shoulder. His nails clicked over the randomly scattered metal back to the tip of her right breast where he hooked the claw of his forefinger into the horizontal ring and tugged.

The deep breath Beth took was the only sound in the room as that tug arrowed straight from her breast to the place between her legs where heat and wetness had already begun to bloom.

Now Victor did look at her face, talking in the way her eyes were squeezed closed, her mouth parted just a little, a fine sheen of sweat already on her brow.

Lifting his hand, he increased the pressure on her ring for just a moment before he released her, enjoying the way her soft flesh returned to its natural, full shape. Scraping his claws over her skin, he treated her other nipple to the same attention, making sure to twist and tug just a little stronger. Testing the waters for later. When she arched a little into the tug then dropped her shoulders back to the bed and hunched in a little, he wanted to sink his teeth into her; that sweet little squirm was the movement of a woman who wanted, needed more pressure, more tension, just more…

He gave it to her, pulling sharply on the ring he had hooked, making her yelp at the sudden sensation, then releasing her to tug around at the vertical barbell. Feeling it, he could tell that whoever had pierced her had made sure to go deep with the barbell; he knew, from his own times in labs – and the more pleasant, but surprisingly similar, sex clubs – that such a placement forced the nipple to rise up into a constant of semi-stiffness. It had then been pierced again with the ring closer to the tip of the nipple, ensuring that any tug on the ring carried especially strong sensations, due to the constant stiffness. One a person into the pain-pleasure side of sex, it was, he knew, a tantalizing thrill.

On an unwilling subject, it was just one more little humiliation and it made him want to rip whoever had done it into many small and bloody pieces.

Beth, unaware of Victor's violent thoughts, arched and squirmed under his hand, her body moving to increase the pressure and sensations by its own volition. He let go of her wrists and swung himself farther up onto the bed, resting on his knees above her thighs. Short as she was, he had no trouble reaching all of her. Using both hands now, and all ten claws, he played with her, stroked and scratched at soft skin, tugged and twisted at sharp metal, all the while using his weight to keep her body still.

She fought him, not to get away he knew from her scent, but to get closer. The feel of her squirming under him, her strong, soft, struggling body was driving him to an edge he didn't know. Somewhere he'd not been before. A place where the desire to take and use and bruise was mixed with the desire to drive his partner crazy with lust until she begged for him fuck her anyway he pleased.

When his claws went deeper than he intended on a pass over the rounded curve of her stomach and little blood trails sparked blackly in the soft moonlight, Beth arched and would have cried out if he hadn't clamped his hand around her throat to keep the scream in.

The scent of her went from hazing the air to flooding his senses and he felt himself go dizzy for a long moment. That was new and disturbing.

With a deliberately heavy caress he trailed his right hand down her body, smearing the blood on her belly – the small scratches all healed now – and stroked farther, pushing the blanket away as he went. His left hand was still around her throat, easing just enough so she could grab a breath every few seconds. Not that he needed to be that careful with her, he mentally gloated. She didn't need to breathe like a normal frail would, thank Christ for her feral mutation.

Moving slowly, to make her crazy, she just knew, he pulled the blanket back more, baring the top of her pubic area. Beth still had her eyes closed; blocking out site the better to increase the amount of sensation she was feeling. When Victor stopped moving, just sat there, her lower body bare to mid-thigh, she popped one eye open to see what was making him wait. Surely he knew what to do with a woman? God, she'd be so disappointed if he didn't know where to go from here.

Before she could say anything to question his abilities or knowledge, he stroked long fingers over the shaved mound of her sex. His claws caught again and again on the pieces of metal covering the tender skin. Down he ran his fingers, both hands now, spreading the soft folds of her body, tracing her outer lips then lightly probing at the weeping inner ones. One thumb rolled over and over the nub of her clit, distended both from his touch and from the barbell and ring it sported.

It was too much, watching her writhe under his hands through the red haze of fury that clouded his vision. He lightly tugged at the dozen rings adorning her labia and thought about how he'd kill the ones who did this to her.

Even as he soothed himself with the mental images of all the most painful ways he knew how to bring death to unfortunate prey, he moved his fingers faster, retracting the claws on his left hand so he could thrust two, then three of his fingers deep into her body. Like he had with her nipples, he hooked his right fore-claw through the ring on her clit and tugged in sharp counterpoint to his thrusts.

She wanted to come, she was desperate for it, but something was holding her back. Through the flood of her arousal, he could smell the struggle, the frustration. He pounded his fingers into her and watched her fight to reach the edge. Her little fingers were running over her own torso, scrubbing roughly at the hoops and bars, squeezing her breasts, trying to pull at her own nipples. Snarling, wanting the taste of her on his tongue, that flame-and-storm scent that had been pricking at his brain all day, Victor dropped to press his weight over her body and dug his teeth into the soft mound of flesh that was her breast.

Still thrusting away with his fingers, he sunk his teeth deep, rumbling when the smooth skin gave way and warm copper zipped across his tongue. Lifting up, he clamped his teeth around the ring in her nipple, letting his sharp teeth graze and scrape at the tender flesh before he managed to get a grip on the metal.

Down below, where his fingers were still playing in the slick heat of her pussy, he flipped his right hand so her tight, throbbing clit was trapped between his pointer and middle fingers. Biting her nipple and tugging the ring, he pinched his fingers tightly, squeezing the hard little nub. For half a heartbeat her scent jittered with pain before she exploded with a strangled cry.

He didn't let up, didn't let her go until she toppled over the edge again, with more of a sob this time. From the smell of her, that one had been equal parts painful and pleasurable. When finally she was still under him, he lifted his head and licked the blood from his lips. The breast he'd assaulted was smeared with it but the flesh was all peaches and cream under it, unmarred and unscarred.

Aroused to the point of pain himself, Victor levered away from the bed and crossed the moonlit room to the door. Looking back over his shoulder to where she lay on the bed, splayed out, bloody and sated to her toes, he grinned darkly.

"I'm so fucking glad you're a feral, frail, it's going to make this so much more fun, and you might actually survive it." The bedroom door closed quietly on the end of his only words to her during the whole interlude.

Alone again in her soft bed and pillows and sheets, Beth stared up at the shadowed ceiling and wondered just what the fuck that had been – how could she make happen again and again and again…

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 _I hope you liked it, thanks for reading! Please, let me know what you thinkg, if you love it or hate it, if you want me to continue or never write again :) Love, DotBC_


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